Trickster God
by James Gordon III
Summary: Batman takes on a man that may be an incarnation of an ancient deity, and a friend of Maxie Zeus's


I've been watching it in the papers – a small hunger strike in Arkham; small meaning a few dozen people, not a joke sum, but nothing compared to the numbers a strike led by the Joker would have. I wonder what it could be about, as I take their leader less than seriously, as I always have. The man they are following is a demagogue that is selling a hard truth to swallow – he thinks himself to be a god.

Maxie Zeus. It is a name that stirs up memories of over-thought but hugely flawed schemes, a strange penchant for the styles of ancient Greece, and a certain kind of insanity that made him easy to take down. Two-Face may have a fight between Angel and Devil personalities, without any shoulders to perch on, but Maxie Zeus has it worse. He is convinced that another spirit exists inside of him – that is, when this alternate personality is not in control. Zeus, a most powerful god, is using him as a vessel.

"He tells me I'm imperfect, that I was a horrible form for him to take," Maxie says in the Arkham archives interview I have playing on my largest screen. "He tells me…he's going to kill me, in the hopes that he can find something better…" This must have been his excuse for his constant suicide attempts throughout his capture. "Help me," he says to the therapist. "Help me please, I beg of you. Help me."

He got his help; the pills they gave him, used to 'shut up' supposed multiple personalities in schizophrenics, magically made the Zeus personality fade away. The fact that he was diagnosed with this exact mental disease in his youth might have played a part in the existence of the Zeus persona in the first place. But Maxie sticks to his guns as to there being a second soul in his body. Otherwise he is making great progress – besides this caveat, he is one of Arkham's best success stories.

No one is being told what the strike is about, but if I know the workings of Arkham it is related to Zeus going off his pills. The officials at the Asylum don't want to admit that one of their poster boys is off the deep end again.

But we're entering day 5.

Interested, I scour the news for anything new on the topic, but find nothing. Arkham's lips are sealed tight. However I know a man that can pry them open; I know this man well.

I suit up after the sun has long disappeared, and make my way discreetly to a part of town I occasionally use as a base for my downtown rounds. Swinging through the air I see the Batsignal shining in the sky – perfect.

"Jim," I say, and the police commissioner jumps.

"Jesus," he says, "that thing's only been on for ten minutes! You're two hours early." He sees that I'm not in a joking mood, then realizes that I never have been. He drinks his coffee. "Why the punctuality," he asks.

"I have a question," I say.

Gordon nods. "Which is what?"

"I need to know what the Arkham strike is about."

"Well I've got good news," Gordon says. He looks to the sky, which is about to burst with rain. "I have an answer - Maxie Zeus has a message he wants you to hear."

"What is it?" I ask.

"He wanted you to personally go talk to him at Arkham."

I chuckle. "You know I don't like confined spaces."

The commissioner nods. "That's why I brought him here."

I look at Jim sideways.

"No setup," he says. "We'll wheel him out here, you talk, then he'll go back to Arkham and enjoy cafeteria food again."

I pause, then slip into the shadows. Gordon walks inside just as the first drops start to fall. Big, fat drops – they hit me like little kid punches, and I wait.

Within a minute the door opens and I hear a rolling sound. I turn my attention away from the Maxie Zeus files on the mini-computer, and to the man himself.

He's obviously off his meds, or most of them. I can see that Maxie is still there, but his Zeus personality is in his eyes as well. He doesn't look good. "Dark knight!" he yells. "Show yourself!"

I don't spook him and pop out of a random corner; he's much too distressed already. Inside I slide slowly into his view. "Hello Maxie."

He looks pained. "Yes, hello Batman."

"I hear you have something to tell me."

Maxie looks me dead in the eye. "It's not me. It's Zeus."

I stare back. "Zeus, then. What do you have to tell me."

"He speaks through me now," Maxie says. "He is not in control. But I have allowed him to communicate with the outside world at times." Maxie pauses and closes his eyes. "I will be a translator."

I turn my eyes to an outcropping, under which is shelter – I'm finding this conversation to be about what I had expected, and would rather be out of the rain by myself.

"This is very important, he says." Maxie's eyes are still closed. "He sees that you are uninterested."

"Well make this worth my interest," I say. "Now."

He opens his mouth, then looks very afraid. "No…we had an agreement…no! No, you can't!" Then Maxie's eyes twirl and his demeanor changes completely. He sits up straight, seeming to possess more strength, radiate more power. This is the Zeus I remember.

"Hello Batman."

"Spit it," I say. "I'm losing patience."

Lightning breaks over us, hitting a skyscraper immediately south of our rooftop. I turn to Maxie – he'd like to think he caused that.

"I come with a gift."

"Open it," I say.

He pauses, surveying me. "Are you familiar with folk legend? Tales of spirits and gods?"

I nod.

"They are all the same, you know. We are all components of a greater cosmic history."

"What do you want?" I ask. I am suddenly in no mood for this bullshit. He can starve to death. "Why are you on hunger strike?"

"You are our only hope," the deity says.

"For what," I say.

"There is another god here on Earth. In Gotham. I am giving you a warning." I look up to him, more sad than entertained. What a poor human being.

The sky lights up, around me, in me – I feel a feeling I had hoped I would not feel again for some time. In a brief instant a freak lightning bolt hits me, and I am electrocuted. My smoke pellets go off, as does half of my utility belt gear, and after the hit I fall to the ground, gasping for air but relieved that my muscles have stopped racing in their skin. I look up to Zeus, who has a look on his face that I can only describe as old.

Old, ancient, of the world, the universe. And to this man I am an ant. I can convince myself all I want that he is insane; in this moment, broken before him, I believe.

"HEAR ME!" Maxie booms.

"I'm listening," I say as the smoke clears.

"The coyote has come," he says.

I squint. "Coyote the trickster."

He nods. "This was how the native Americans knew this being. To them he took that form, or that of the Raven. His name to me was Hermes. To the Chinese he was known as the monkey king; in the time of the Arabs he was imprisoned in a lamp, the genie. And his name to the Norse, was Loki." He pauses, preparing to give me a lesson I don't need. "This is not a benevolent god," Zeus says. "He is the most intelligent of us all, but chooses to play games, and uses his talents for the purpose of entertaining himself. And in this pursuit he cares little of who or what is collateral."

I don't say I'm familiar. I don't know him personally.

"He will leave a path of strange destruction in his wake," Zeus says, "a mutilation of sense and order. Left to his own devices, he will ruin this world."

"How do you know he's here?" I ask.

He leans forward. "He came to see me." He sighs, and stares at the binds that hold him. "He came to mock me, in my pitiful state."

"He came to see you…in Arkham?"

Zeus nods. "We spoke in languages we had created, bored so long ago." The god looks up to the sky. "He is here, in Gotham.

"You know in time," he says, "I came to accept your role in this city, in this reality. You are the guardian, the man who is himself beyond men. I came to respect you." His eyes wash over my useless body; I still cannot stand. "You are a hope against this being."

"Where do I begin?" I ask, half humoring him and half genuinely interested.

"Watch the news," Zeus says. "He will reveal himself. He is not subtle."

Zeus breathes in, and the god suddenly snaps his handcuffs, and then everything holding him to the rolling chair is instantly broken – all done with superhuman strength. I jump back, preparing for battle, but then fall – I am still so weak. Seeing this he smiles.

"If you will excuse me," he says, and raises his arms. "It is past time to shuffle off this mortal coil."

"Maxie no!" I yell, but it is already too late – under deafening cracks of thunder electricity is frying him, lightning drawn to him as though he were a metal rod in the sky. It lasts for seconds, huge bolt after bolt shooting down and connecting to his frame, until there is nothing left to hold up the hands, and they fall. A charred, melted and lifeless body is all that remains of Maxie Zeus; the horizon shows a break in the clouds, and the rain subsides.

I crawl over to the stairway door and knock, three times, as hard as I can. Gordon opens, and takes half a second to try to draw conclusions. "Jesus Christ," he says, unable to. "What happened?"

"I don't know," I say. "I honestly don't know."

'

"You don't believe any of that crap, do you?" Gordon watches me, concerned, as I tend to my wounds with the medical supplies HQ sent to the roof. I hurt. But I can stand again.

"Gordon, I watched him hit himself with lightning." Gordon opens his mouth. "He hit me with lightning."

"How can you be sure it wasn't just coincidence?"

I stare at my friend. He is always the non-believer. "Think what you want," I say.

"And this trickster god stuff, you're believing that too."

I look out over the city. "I need you to pull some of Arkham's surveillance tapes for me." Jim looks down, pissed. "Just what you can from the past week. Any feed near Maxie's cell."

"You're fucking kidding me, right?"

I turn back to Jim. "You weren't here. If you were you would be trying to check his story too." I pause, and wince as I touch a bad burn. "I owe it to Maxie. It was his last wish."

"Since when are you friends with Maxie Zeus?" Gordon asks.

"He was a troubled boy," I say. "I can relate."

"…right," Gordon says. "Well I'm needed inside. I'll get those tapes for you," he grumbles.

"Thanks, Jim," I say.

Gordon walks to the door, then starts to turn. "And don't stay out here very long, people might…" His eyes widen and flit from shadow to shadow, but I'm already gone.

'

I recuperate in the manor, missing my rounds for two nights. Nothing out of the ordinary happens, and my investigation is stalled until I pick up the videos from Jim; on the third night I pull myself fully together and hit the streets, itching to see them.

I complete an uneventful set of rounds, deciding to tuck myself in early and watch the surveillance tapes. I sit in the shadows of the GCPD roof, waiting for Gordon to come out and turn on the signal; he walks out with coffee and does, and his hand is still on the switch when he looks up and sees me.

"It wasn't even on this time," he says. "Couldn't wait, huh; I'm flattered."

"Where are the tapes?" I ask.

"Inside," he says. "I was gonna let this warm up and go get them." I stare. "Right," he says, and walks back to the door.

'

I don't see anyone in the footage – and that's what's interesting. Everything's normal until five o'clock on Tuesday, and then everything goes blank. There's nothing – a complete blackout for twenty minutes, an extremely long stretch of time in a prison – but it didn't seem to raise any alarms for the administration. It must have been routine maintenance; however I've scanned through all the videos and it is the only possible time that someone could have gotten in to see Maxie. Worth checking out.

I hack into an Arkham mainframe – it was a security system upgrade, strangely timed as the last one had been just months before. I wonder.

"Harris Systems," the other end of the phone line says. I'm surprised I didn't get a machine.

"This is Bruce Wayne," I say. "As a stockholder I had a few concerns about Arkham Asylum's recent security upgrade."

"We don't discuss such matters over the phone," he says.

"Where do we?" I ask.

'

Bob Harris is the head of the company; touching that he cared enough to talk to me. It might have something to do with the secretary's disbelief in my identity, and subsequent mockery. I hope I haven't gotten him fired.

"Mr. Wayne," he says. "What can I do for you."

"First, forgive me for involving you in Asylum politics," I say.

"The hospital's one of our biggest clients," he says. "You have my time."

I nod. "Well, I for one am concerned with the frequency of the recent security upgrades. Two in four months strikes me as unnecessary. Was there a problem with the first?"

He looks uncomfortable. "I'm sorry, that is something I can only discuss with certain people."

"Certain people are already discussing it," I say. "I'd like more information before the next board meeting."

Mr. Harris is suddenly very interested. "Let me pull a file," he says. "I'll be right back."

I know he's going to talk to someone, to strategize for damage control. But I wait, politely, and don't ransack his office looking for answers. He comes back without a folder.

"Did you get the file?" I ask.

He looks to his empty hands. "Couldn't find it," he says, then looks back up to me. "Okay, what I'm about to tell you makes us look pretty bad. But we've fired the hiring staff that let him in, and instituted more rigorous checks and balances."

"A bad egg," I say.

"Right. He was a new hire, but he was some kind of genius. He knew security in and out, and had some very good ideas." He paused. "Ideas that have essentially given us an edge over other companies."

I nod. "How did you find out?"

"It was the first Arkham system upgrade. He did his thing, but blacked out the security feeds for a half hour." He shakes his head. "He went around the prison conducting tests during this time; originally we thought he was playing the book a little strangely, but still playing it straight."

"But it wasn't."

Harris shakes his head. "No. It's the closest we've come to a breakout." He pauses. "Which we haven't had once in our two years of service to the Asylum," he adds.

"I have confidence in Harris Systems," I say, to ease his mind. "But I need to know exactly what happened for that confidence to hold."

He stares. "Well," he says, "he disappeared. Right after the incident. We never saw him again." He looks out of the window. "And we hired private detectives, to go after him."

"Did they find anything?"

"Well…no," Harris says. "One was murdered."

My heart does a double-take.

"Murdered?"

Harris nods. "The other one quit the case, and we stopped looking." He pauses. "So we don't know what happened. He might have someone set up for an escape somehow." I look away, and Harris panics. "That's what the second upgrade was," he says. "A complete analysis of systems. Our men have been running random checks inside ever since. And nothing has happened."

"I see."

"Nothing," he says. "You should know that our record is better across the board than any of our competitors."

"I am aware," I say, "and thank you for your time."

"You're very welcome," he says.

"I will tell the board nothing happened. But personally I want to see a full report." I pull out a business card. "Here's my address."

He nods, holding back sweat. "Right," he says.

"What was his name?"

"Gerald Thompson. He was black." He pauses. "Strange guy. Called himself 'The Coyote.'" Harris pauses. "Talked in the third person sometimes."

"Thank you," I say. "We'll be in touch."

The Coyote. Strange indeed.

'

That night I start my travels in the financial district; it's quiet, as it has been these days, and I decide to head to West Gotham. But before I leave downtown I pay a visit to one half of a pair of old friends; detective Monster Howardson is in his fifth floor office, the ghost of Peck Simple probably looking over his shoulder. They did me a few favors, good favors, so I skip my usual entrance and knock on the window; it would be unfair to make them buy another new one. Or, him now. I will miss Peck.

Monster opens it. "Come in," he says. His view is one of another building across an alley, with little visibility; still, he understandably doesn't want anyone to know of our relationship. I step inside without getting anything wet but the floor. "Pouring outside, huh?" he asks.

"I'm sorry about your partner," I say. "Peck was a good man."

"Yeah," he says, and looks up. "You knew we were lovers, right?" I nod, and he sniffles. "Yeah. What can I do for you?" he asks.

"I'd like to avenge him."

He laughs. "Well, good luck."

"I'm looking for Gerard-"

"No," he says. "I don't want to hear that name, ever again. That was the whole point."

I pause. "The whole point of what?"

He stares at me, knowing I'll find out whether he tells me or not. "Peck hit a nerve with this guy."

"Obviously," I say, but it looks like the comment hit a soft spot with Monster – "I'm sorry. Please continue."

"He found something out, out in the field. He killed himself before he got home."

I look at Howardson – it hurt him, pretty bad, and he's opening the wound for me.

"I heard he was murdered," I say.

Monster shakes his head. "He called me. Said he was doing it for me." He smiles. "Peck always was a romantic."

"What did he say?"

"Told me to burn his notes. Told me not to look for his killer." Monster pauses. "Told me that if I did, I'd die too."

"So he sacrificed himself."

"To save me, yeah." The wounded man shrugs. "That's life."

"That's horrible," I say, but it's life for me too.

"He shot himself three times in the chest and wiped the gun clean. Threw it in a river." I nod, and Monster continues. "Peck couldn't go out with everyone thinking he was a coward." He looks at me. "Don't do it," he says. "This guy sounded like something else." He pauses. "But you're not scared, are you." He shakes his head. "Are you scared of anything?"

"Yes," I say. I'm scared of myself. "I'll find him. I'll bring him in."

"I don't want to send you to your death," Monster says, but walks over to his desk and motions me to follow.

He pulls a folder out of the desk in the corner. Peck's.

"But I couldn't do it." He scratches his face. "I couldn't throw the stuff out. I'd rather die." He stares at the folder, thinking of joining the investigation, and I quickly snatch it off the desk. Monster looks up.

"Peck wanted you to stay out of it," I say.

"I know," Monster says. "I know."

We share simple goodbyes and I am gone, hurtling through the air towards a building, any building, with dry space to read. Once I find one I open the folder – West Gotham can wait.

'

Between Peck's notes and the report I received from Harris Systems, I am able to put together a very odd profile. Gerard Thompson is a man most say didn't exist – his listed address belonged to a young woman, and neither she nor the family renting her the back room knew of any African American male having been a guest during that time, save two who were definitely not Gerard.

A fake address is not uncommon, sure, but then in Peck's notes it stated that Thompson had received mail sent to it. This sent Peck back to the house, where he probably died – in his schedule he had the visit written down for the day of his death, and I assume he missed dinner afterwards. Which gives me a good location to start with. But it's the Harris report that really gets me.

Gerard 'Coyote' Thompson was "intense. He was a nice enough guy," according to an employee interview, "but he could really get in your head. Making eye contact with him was weird. He seemed to get some kind of power over you."

"I worked with Gerard, he was okay, but there were some strange things that happened while he was with us," another man says; he doesn't elaborate, unfortunately.

By far the most interesting is a man who claims that Gerard "had some kind of mind control. He was hard to disagree with. I don't think I said no once to him. Seriously, guy had something going on."

Mind control. Strange eyes, and 'strange things,' all surrounding a man who got into Arkham, vanished and killed a private eye. It's possible he met with Maxie; or, like Harris said, he could have just set up an escape for someone. In any case, people who kill friends of mine don't get off easy. I'm going to find him, and sort this whole thing out.

I'm on my way out of the cave when Alfred chimes in on the intercom. "I think there's something you should see, sir," he says. I pause.

"What is it?"

"Someone just sold Gotham Tower, sir."

"Gotham Tower?" I ask, knowing that the landmark is publicly owned.

"They're calling it the con job of the century," Alfred says. I am intrigued.

I flip through TV channels looking for the story, which I find fast – it's all over the place. The buyer, a real estate firm president, claims that he was 'thoroughly convinced' that the man selling was part of Gotham's government, and that he would be a fool not to buy. After the check had cleared he suddenly saw the error in his ways, and tried to get the money back with no success.

The news channel kept his face blurred and his name hidden, but I've been to enough social functions with the upper crust to know the man – his name is Dan Fatoni. I pick up the phone and call.

"Dan, it's Bruce Wayne," I say once his secretary has patched us through. "I just wanted to extend my apologies for your loss."

"Thanks," he says. "I feel like an idiot."

"What happened, exactly?"

Dan sighs. "This guy, he came and gave us a proposal that seemed airtight. Everyone here thought he was legit, including me; later we realized there were all sorts of inaccuracies, and it was almost like he had brainwashed us all." He pauses. "It's surreal. And now the company's done."

"I'm sorry to hear that," I say. "I can see if there are any positions you can fill at Wayne, if you want."

"I'd appreciate that, Bruce," he says. "Thanks for the call."

"Right," I say. "Well, good luck with the media frenzy."

"Thanks."

"Just out of curiosity," I say, "what did the guy look like? Don't want to get duped myself."

"Black. Upwards of six feet," Dan says. "Very strange eyes."

"Thanks. Goodbye Dan."

"Bye Bruce."

Something tells me I'll be seeing a little less of Mr. Fatoni – he's a walking PR disaster, drugs and horrible morals, and I won't hire him at Wayne. Even if he pulls through this without bankruptcy, he won't be pulling up to parties in limousines anytime soon.

I'm still in the suit and head out immediately – if Coyote was the salesman, odds are he won't be hanging around town; I head to the house in question right away.

'

I find myself outside of the building in the back well after the sun has set – a light is on, which is good. Someone's home, and hopefully it is Gerard. I climb up the building and look through the window – it's someone alright. There, in a dress, with breasts, and without the makeup he must have been using, is the Coyote – he makes a fairly convincing woman, but I see past that to his cheekbones. I'm sure it's him. This time I'm not knocking.

A crash of glass and I'm in his room. "It's over," I say in his general direction, and then I make my mistake – he's standing there, staring, and I look in his eyes.

"Well, what do we have here."

I can't move. I try to summon up my strength, and save it for a moment when he is less in control. My hands move against their will to my mask, and he uses them to start taking it off. "No," he says, and smiles as they stop. "That's no fun."

His eyes glance down towards my belt, and as he starts to say something else I force myself away. He looks back up, shocked.

"Strong man," he says. "Very strong." He gets on his knees to try to get in my face again as I recover. "But just a man." He smiles as he grabs my head and starts to twist; I am powerless, but as he gets my attention again he sees my fist approaching his head and it knocks him sideways with a pop; I've broken his jaw.

He's grabbing it, looking away, when I punch him again in the side. "We don't play here in Gotham," I say, and wrench his gaze so that he is facing the other way.

I manage to tie him up without making eye contact, and he is laughing and very angry. "Please," he says, "you can't do anything but kill me. And if the rumors are true, that's something you can't do."

"Can't and won't are two different things," I say, "and if no one's watching, you never know." He laughs.

"The police are on their way," he says.

"What?"

He smiles. "I called as soon as I saw your shadow."

Damn. He'll have no problem breaking out of the law's grasp, I am sure. I have to take him somewhere…

But as I think this, I hear sirens headed this direction. I'm beaten, and I look to him to see his smile of victory before I crush it.

I can't believe what I've let myself do.

It's a half second of our gaze meeting, but the man's reactions are too fast, and he turns his eyes right into mine. "Play?" he says. "You don't play?" He stands, and makes me stand. "That's a horrible thing to say." I pull the knife out of my utility belt. "It's all fun and games," he says.

The knife moves steadily towards the ropes that bind him, and almost reach them. He has me under his spell, to be sure, but I gather what little of me I have left. I tell myself that the knife is bound to cut my throat next. And I tell myself to remember Peck…

The blade shoots up, with a push of will I didn't know I had, and gets him directly in the left eye.

He takes a half second of shock and then he screams, puts his hand up to hold in blood, and closes his right; in an instant the knife is through his eyelid and he is bleeding from both sockets. "Aaah," he says, crying, which must make the pain even worse. His tears mix with blood, and I make my escape.

"Should we shoot?" I hear a cop down below.

"Nah," a veteran says, "he just did our job for us."

And across the city, into the night, I am gone.

'

I'm on the roof well before Jim comes out – so early, in fact, that one of the desk riders inside comes out for a cigarette. "Smoking kills," I say from the shadows as he pulls one out. He drops it, and stares. "Go get Gordon."

Jim's pissed. "You cut out his eyes?"

"I pricked them," I say.

"And you twisted the blade." Gordon shakes his head. "You fucked up, Batman. Everyone saw you there."

"I didn't have a choice, Jim. If I hadn't I'd be dead," I say, "and so would your officers."

"That's bullshit!" he says. "What, did he have laser vision? Some fist came out of his retinas?!"

"It was mind control," I say.

"Oh, mind control, great." Jim rolls his eyes." You know every once in a while something like this happens, and you go as crazy as the people you're chasing."

"This is the man that sold Gotham Tower," I say. "He snuck into Arkham and killed Peck Simple."

"Who?"

I stare. "The private detective."

"Oh, you mean one half of the gay…" He sees I would be unamused by any remark; he has expressed suspicion that Robin and I are homosexuals, as well, and treads on the topic carefully. "I don't care what he's done, you can't just cut someone's eyes out. Not with people watching."

"That's right Jim, I charged admission."

"Fuck you!" he yells. "You know whose ass this is?! Mine!" He turns around to head inside. "You lay low, or-"

"Or what, Jim." He turns around and catches my stare.

"…or life will be much harder for you. And this," he says as he motions between us, "this will be done." He pauses, breathing in. "Look, I'm sure you had your reasons. But no one, including me, is going to understand." He turns back around and starts to walk. "It'll take a while for Gotham to trust you again," he says. "Don't make it worse."

He doesn't say goodbye, or at least I don't hear it as I slide off into the night. Gordon's right – I'll have to play it safe if I want to keep the best ally I have; but if Thompson or whoever he is escapes, which I fear he may, I will have to operate with no restraint.

'

Coyote isn't there for a night. Taking out his eyes seems to have made him more powerful – he walked right out of the prison, and security that got in his way turning their guns on themselves and ending their lives. He's on the street.

And I know what he's looking for.

"Reports say that a man with two eyepatches is wandering around downtown Gotham, screaming for Batman," the TV news anchor says, "and that he appears to have some sort of supernatural powers."

"Supernatural powers, Megan?" the other anchor asks, sarcastically.

Megan smiles. "I'm just repeating what I'm told."

This is nothing to laugh about. If Coyote is downtown, many people could die for no reason. I finish preparing something special for the occasion, then suit up and hit the town.

He's easy to find; he's yelling for me at an unworldly volume, and people are running the other way. I swing onto his street – he turns, knowing that I'm there immediately. "You COWARD!" he screams in my direction.

"I'm here," I say. "I'll face you."

He runs towards me, but before he makes it I pull up the crossbow I've brought along – but I am unable to fire.

"What's that you've got there?" he asks, and I find it bending towards my own neck. I laugh. "What's so funny?" Gerard asks me, and I almost shoot it at myself. But I stop. Slowly, but steadily, I fight his force and pull it back so that it's aimed at him. And I pull the trigger.

He takes the needle like a champ, and a few seconds after he's hit he's the one laughing. "What is that, poison? Nice try, Batman!" And he lunges at me.

The force of a brick connects with my ribcage, and I grunt and swing back – when my hand is halfway to connecting it stops, and reverses itself, hitting me in the face with all my strength. I fall down.

I look up and see him there, and am able to accept that he is a god. I punch myself again, very hard – he is radiating power, and I don't know if I'll be able to survive until…

Then, suddenly, his demeanor changes. "What's going on," he says, and then turns to me. "Batman! What have you done!"

His body spasms, fighting itself. For a good twenty seconds he loses control, and then he is gone completely, and whatever poor soul let this monster into his body is there, alone in his skin. "Thank you, Batman! Thank you!" he yells, and grabs my leg. "Oh god thank you."

'

"What was in the dart?" Gordon asks as they haul him away.

"Medication," I say, "the same kind that worked to shut up the voice in Maxie Zeus."

Gordon nods. "Nice play." He sighs. "Well, I guess you were right."

"About what?" I ask.

"I guess there are things in this world that defy explanation."

I nod. "But not many."

"Alright," he says. "Need me anymore?"

"No, Jim," I say, and he walks off to be with his men.

I swing my way into West Gotham – I owe it a patrol. The night is young, the sun being barely down, and I am at home in the darkness.

'

"Do you like tuna?"

The blind man turns, to gauge the direction of the person speaking. Arkham is a scary place when you can't see. "Who are you?"

The voice laughs, a laugh the blind man recognizes; he recoils from the speaker. "Oh, no one. But you see, I asked you a question." The man who could only be the Joker pauses. "Do you like tuna?"

"…sometimes," the blind man answers.

"SOMETIMES?" The laugh, again. "What an INTERESTING answer. Tell me. WHEN do you like Tuna?"

"…when it's in a sandwich," the blind man says. He is going to die.

"You know when I like tuna? Hmmm?"

The blind man says nothing, and feels a slap to the face; he falls.

"ASK ME!" the Joker yells.

"When…do you like tuna?"

"Well," the Joker says, "I like it when my friend Julio steals a dozen or so cans of it from the kitchen, and we put it in a pillowcase. It becomes a weapon, see?" And the blind man hears something that could well be what the Joker has described dragging across the floor.

"What do you want?" the blind man asks. "It wasn't me-"

"Yes, it was your ' _other personality_ ,'" the Joker says mockingly. "Well I don't want him to come back. You see, I do the tricking around here." The blind man swore he could hear the Joker smile. "And I don't care if you're an ancient god or a little old lady," he says, "Gotham is MY turf. Understand?"

"Yes, I understand," the blind man says.

"Good," the Joker says, and pauses. "Well, guess I don't really have to do this." There is another pause, and the blind man wishes the world farewell. "But I'll do it ANYWAY!" the Joker yells, and the last thing the host of the Coyote feels is his head crushing in on itself.

'

The 'god' is no more, I read in the paper – killed by an unknown assailant in Arkham. I can't say I miss him much.

As I listen to police frequencies on my mini-computer I wonder if the Coyote will find another host now. I know one thing – if he does, he'll be coming after me. I hope that that day will never come, and decide to distract myself when I hear a 214 in progress across the city. I swing away, and wonder how many things like that I try to forget – old grudges, vile creatures coming for my blood. If I did think about them, I'd never sleep.

Loki, the Coyote, the Monkey King; he goes by many names, and I don't care to know them all. What I do know is that a disaster has been averted, and I can pat myself on the back for that – and it's always fun to poke someone's eyes out.

Just kidding. I grapple away into the night, and am gone.


End file.
